Francis Duggan

The Lake Of Gortavehy Poem by Francis Duggan

In a high and bracken valley above the road that leads to ShroneIs the lake of Gortavehy by a hill of het and stoneThe shy and shaggy mountain sheep are bleating on the hillIn a landscape scarcely touched by man where time seems to stand still.

The distance seems to disappear each time I visualizeAnd the skylark he is carolling as up towards the clouds he fliesAnd tiny rivulets from the mountain glittering in the mid day sunDown to the dark Lake of Gortavehy through the het and bracken run.

In the high valley by the mountain gorse and het and bracken growAnd it's been said that the old Gaelic Bards in the centuries agoFound the soul food and the inspiration for their poems and songs and laysBy the lake of Gortavehy in Sliabh Luachra's glory days.

To visualize comes easy and then distance disappearAnd the skylark o'er the valley I fancy I can hearAnd the trout swims to the shallows for to feel the sun's warm rayIn the dark Lake of Gortavehy by the mountains far away.